National Televison
by LiveLoveLaugh77
Summary: Hannah Montana's getting a new way for better publicity: a team from National Television will roam the beach, watching for that hot 14yearold boy to kiss HM on NT. Miley expects them to choose Jake. Will they? I highly doubt it. Lilly Truscott


I peeked over the top of my magazine. There they were, still sitting on Rico's stools, smiling googly-eyed smiles and practically slobbering all over each other.

Miley and Jake. I had heard so much of Jake for the past six weeks; it was like he was my son, or something. That's right: Miley Stewart, my best friend, now has Mr. Perfect Boyfriend Jake "Leslie" Ryan for her boyfriend. She can't talk about ANYTHING except Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake. Miley was in complete like with him. I barely got to spend any time with my own best friend, because she spent all the time she could with Jake Ryan. I loved Miley like a sister, but she wasn't being a very good friend to me.

I sighed, a big, deep, kinda quiet sigh. I was "reading a magazine." Kind of. What I was doing wasn't eavesdropping…okay, yes it sort of was. It was the newest People magazine; I was on one of those big, long beach chairs, and I happened to shift it in the direction of wherever Miley and Jake were standing.

I had big, big news for Miley. Very, very big. But I couldn't quite bring myself to telling her just yet—not before I saw what she and Jake were doing.

Though it's not like I couldn't have guessed easily, anyway—drool, talk, and kiss. Drool, kiss, kiss, and kiss. That was pretty much what they did.

Now I grimaced in disgust, as Miley set a delicate, pretty hand on Jake's chest. She fluttered her eyes and leaned toward him, puckering her lips, slightly. It was meant to be a sweet, short kiss, but Jake couldn't stand the temptation and he just _had _to grossly, with as much slobber as possible, slip his tongue into my best friend's mouth. Miley smiled, as they tongued around in there, fighting for the top.

I made silent, throwing-up motions.

I, Lilly Truscott, highly disapprove of make-out sessions; especially when my best friend is one of the make-out-ees.

Finally, I stood up and cleared my throat, making myself alarmingly visible to Miley.

I shouldn't have worried. She was too absorbed in her make-out session to even notice me.

I boldly walked over to where Miley and Jake were—eeewww!!!---Miley was sticking out her tongue—right out in the open—for Jake to—right out in the public—suck on it with his teeth and lips. And—eeeewww!!! Even grosser—Jake had his hands directly on Miley's boobs, and every few seconds, he squeezed them!

EEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW EEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch anymore, I ran away and—though you may not know it, I have a very sensitive stomach. I really _did _throw up.

I wondered if I could just go hop on a skateboard, or something, but I decided against it. Jake, Oliver, Mr. Stewart, Jackson and I were the only ones who knew Miley was Hannah Montana. I had to tell her this, or else practically no one would.

I was at the beach, longingly staring at the having-fun surfers, but I knew I had to venture back to Rico's stools, where Miley and Jake would, no doubt, still be. When they started making out, it usually lasted a while.

Yep, they were still there and…nope, I will not describe what they were doing. This time, I cautiously walked up to them, ready to sprint if they ever did something particularly gross. Not that the things they were doing _weren't_ gross.

When I was standing right in front of them, still, neither Miley nor Jake noticed me. Too busy…wrestling tongues. I made some designs in the sand with my bare feet, turning bright red. I finally looked up and cleared my throat.

Miley, startled, broke away, and Jake still puckered his lips, kissing the air.

Miley wore a can't-you-see-I'm-making-out look on her face, as she looked around to see where the distraction came from. When she saw me, her face turned to a less than enthusiastic oh-it's-you expression.

"Oh, it's you," said Miley.

"Yeah…I have something to tell you."

"Can it wait?" Miley asked.

"Well, it's pretty important," I said to her.

She considered, and then said, "Okay. What?" in a let's-hurry-this-along tone. Jake was now eyeing me with a do-I-know-you? look on his face.

I cleared my throat professionally, and then recited my rehearsed answer.

"Your entourage—you know, your manager and stuff, as Hannah Montana, has come up with another new way for you to get better publicity." As if she didn't already have amazing publicity.

"Oh. That's not important," Miley said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"No, that's not the important part," I carefully stated, trying not to be irritated with _her_. "This is their idea: that they're going to 'roam' the beach, here in Malibu, to find one un-famous boy, and they will select him carefully, according to age and hot-ness, and then, that boy will get to kiss Hannah Montana—full on the lips, on National television."

I expected Miley to react in some angry/miserable/what?/whatever way, you know? Instead, she raised her eyebrows at me, and shook her head at me, like, 'Lilly, Lilly, Lilly.'

"Lilly," said Miley, "don't you know? As long as Jake's here at the right time, they'll choose him."

I frowned, completely confused. "But Miley, they said a non-fa"—

"No matter what they said," Miley told me. "It's good for publicity. It's no use if someone they don't even know kisses me. They'll choose Jake."

"Miley, I"—

"Hey, can I talk to you later?" Miley asks me. Not. She tells me. I can see it in her eyes. And Jake's not even pretending to notice me. He's just looking at Miley, like, 'You are a god!' because she's wearing a really-really belly shirt, plus short-short shorts.

"Yeah." And I walk away.

Jake has taken away my best friend, not only physically, but mentally.

This is not the Miley I know.


End file.
